The Summit
by Hakakure
Summary: Trapped, and with no help coming, Steve is forced to save Tony from himself. With no way out the two of them confront each other, and desires long hidden... (Stony - Superhusbands - One-shot - explicit - mature)


"We're going down, brace yourself!" Steve shouted from the pilot seat of the Quinjet.

But Tony wasn't arguing - for once – and wasn't doing much of anything else.  
Smoke twirled in front of the cockpit's cracked glass and the damned alarms were blaring loud enough to make Cap want to punch them out. But he was too busy fighting tooth and nail to keep the aircraft stable, avoiding the tree line, the rocks, the snowy peaks.

Like a bird on fire the blackened jet came screaming between mountain passes, snapping branches, and firing past the rocky peaks. Somehow, someway, the arms of the super-soldier held together, almost breaking from the force. A loud crash from behind told him Tony had passed out again, still bleeding, and being smashed around the bay like a ragdoll. Goddamnit he wasn't going to let him die, but there was nothing he could do if they pancaked off a mountain.

"Hold on Tony!" he screamed as the wing exploded, the nose started spinning, and the world went dark.

Snow. Snow and wind.  
Steve unbuckled, and slammed straight into the side window. He struggled up, silently thankful the windows had stayed strong as the jet skidded to its final resting spot on its side. He ignored the gash over his right eye, taking in the damage.

"Tony…"

Tony first and foremost – always – ahead of his own pain. He scrambled through the wreckage, the hull had stayed intact, but the floor was ripped open on the rocky landing, leaving a gaping wound in what was now the wall. Frigid air snapped and barked around his face as he hustled Tony onto his back. The suit was already scratched and damaged all to hell, so that didn't tell him anything.

"Tony, Tony." he gently tried rousing him.

The blank face of the mask looked back. The reactor still bright. Thank god for that little gem, the light of his life, and proof that Steve was overreacting.

He propped the groaning genius against the wall, and got to work. He was talking to himself, for his own benefit, but knowing Tony would appreciate it, because the man hated silence.

"I'm going to drape this over, give us shelter, and then round up our supplies. Computers fried too." Steve mentioned this like he understood the machine while it was working, "We gotta wait it out Tony."

Steve knelt over the scratched and battered mechanical man, a far cry from the glory he so usual portrayed.

"It'll be okay Tony, I'll take care of you."

It took an hour, and by then his face was as pristine as the makeshift home he had made. The wind kept blazing outside, wrapping them in a snowy whirlwind without end, and rustling the tarp he had latched over the hole. On it's side, but flat, the Quinjet wasn't half bad a place to camp the night. It all reminded him of Bastogne, and he shuddered a little at the gnawing chill running up his bones. No serum makes you strong enough to forget nights like that.

Tony was, as Tony tends to be, dramatic. In this case, it was the silent treatment like a disgruntled child. Steve quite enjoyed it if he was being perfectly honest. Though he did want to hear the man speak, because the suit could only be trusted to take care of him so much.

"The suit can only be trusted to take care of you so much." Steve said. He had few filters, and less dramatics than Tony.

The Iron Man maintained his iron silence.

"Just…forget about it Tony. We're here. We're downed. We're alive. You like facts," he said trying to stay upbeat, "Now we wait until our tracker comes alive."

Steve was being generous in his actions, moving the few supplies around, putting down a makeshift bed with pillows and blankets made of parachutes. He felt like a kid again. But it was all for Tony, who was less sulking, and more ashamed. He was also barely breathing, enhanced senses didn't need to tell him that, Steve was always acutely aware of how Tony was feeling. It started to eat at him, feeling helpless, feeling like he couldn't make Tony feel better. He kept busy.

"The suits nearly out of power Tony. Take it off."

"No."

At last, a word. A sign from heaven.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm building a fire."

"I can do that," and he raised his hand to fire a repulsor blast.

Steve stood above him, dinner plate and rations in hand, and the pathetic fizzle that sparked from the gauntlet led him to raise an eyebrow.

"Performance issues?"

Tony didn't have a comeback. Steve regretted his words, and continued preparing dinner. He hated making people feel inferior, especially those he respected. Those he'd die for. The fire lit into life, giving a warmth to the aircraft far beyond its small size, and the rations made him feel good to be doing something nice for his stubborn partner in the wreck.

Steve hunkered over the fire, stirring the pot. He didn't embarrass Tony by looking at him, he wouldn't do that to him. Tony just sat there in full armour, in it's uselessness, legs out and back against a support beam. Behind him, the bed lay, as well as a change of clothes.

"Eventually you're going to have to take it off and I'm going to have to take care of you."

"That's not going to happen."

"We don't know when rescue is coming Tony," Steve continued with a calm tone, stirring away, "I've been patient." _I'm always patient with you._

There was a faint whirr as the man in the machine turned its head, and even in the dull whites of the eyes, Steve could swear there was an apology, or the attempt at one. It had been hours since the fight, the crash, and the suit working overtime to keep any wounds in check. Despite all Tony's amazing efforts, someone was always going to shut it down, it was just a machine after all. Just not so public perhaps, not so painful. You can wear a crash helmet but when you crash your skull is still hitting something. It was no different with a full suit of armour. Tony didn't like being useless; being helpless. Steve wondered if he'd ever been quite this vulnerable. Money, looks, talent. Buys you a lot, but it doesn't mean jack when you get knocked down. It made him sad Tony wouldn't open up, literally. As if he was ever going to be anything less that great in his eyes.

"Tony," he took a knee beside him, still facing the fire. He wanted his full attention, "You didn't do anything wrong." Tony raised his hand to protest, but Steve continued quickly, "And no matter what state you're in, I'm here for you. And more importantly," he said looking him dead in the eyes, "I can rip the damn thing off you if I have too."

Steve knew, because it was Tony, because it was perfectly him, that even in the bloodied heap inside the helmet, he was smiling at that.

Steve's blue eyes flickered in the firelight, growing bright and soft, soft as his voice, "Take off the suit."

The shell-head drooped away from his gaze, the fading arc reactor light no match for the fire anymore. Steve's hand rested on the breastplate.

"Take off the suit."

"Steve…" came like a distant chime, echoed in the soft touch of Tony's hand. Somehow soft when made of titanium. But nothing else came, then a faint click, and the helmet snapped open and back, revealing his face.

Steve almost grabbed him, wanting to comfort him, for his dark eyes were so glassy they almost broke his heart. And before he spoke – because he never needed to say anything – Steve knew exactly what he was going to say.

"Stop it Tony."

"But Steve - "

"I said stop it. It ain't your fault."

His nostrils flared, and his eyes threatened to crack open the dam. Steve grabbed his hands, grabbed them tight enough that the metal creaked, enough that Tony knew it was real.

"I've been here a hundred times Tony. We're in the foxhole. We're gonna keep our heads down until we come out of it. And you know how we do that?"

Tony was shutting down, faster than the life support in his suit, blaming himself, punishing himself. Steve shook him hard, hard as only he could, straight through his damn arrogant soul.

"How Tony?"

Timid brown eyes looked up at the one man who ever looked at Tony like he always wanted. "Together" he finally uttered.

"Together." Steve told him with timeless blue eyes.

He took a breath, scanning the matted brown hair, and the scuffs on Tony's face. He wasn't too badly injured at all. Of course. It was all on the inside with Tony.

"Take off the suit."

"Isn't that fire a, y'know, a fire hazard?"

Steve grinned, with just enough perfect teeth showing that it melted Tony's heart a little. His genius mind was already in overdrive, from the moment the suit had shut down, to Steve getting him safe, to crashing around like a useless drunken lump while Steve saved him again. Steve was always saving him, and never making Tony feel like he needed be to saved. _That's_ why he was a hero, because Captain America made you believe in yourself as much as in him. And this time, this private moment in a wreck, Tony didn't look away, not from Steve, and not from what it made him feel inside. He liked how Steve made him feel, even if he didn't believe it himself.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Oh don't worry about it, the walls and floor broke my fall. My bones took most of the damage." Tony quipped. He liked how much Steve liked it. "How does one make a fire up a snowy mountain? Is that some old army skills Cap?"

"Boy Scouts." Steve said with a flash of his bright eyes.

Tony giggled a little more than he should.

"Now let's go." Steve said, twisting the wristlock and removing a gauntlet. He skidded it along the floor.

"Careful, that's very expensive useless junk."

"Tony." Steve reprimanded him, sighing in his strangely childish way.

Tony's arm came up straight and firm, "Cap, I know you like being trapped in ice, but I'm not planning on staying here." he said, trying to force himself up.

One hand was all it took to pin him right back down. Steve's face did the rest. Tony couldn't keep dodging his own guilt, not in front of him, not in front of the most honest person he knew. Damn him all with his Clark Gable hair and physique most people couldn't even Photoshop.

"Don't tell me it's not my fault." Tony said, half-joking, and half afraid of some high altitude therapy session.

There was a click and one of the boots banged and echoed in the dark cabin. The winds had turned low and razor sharp outside, the fire dancing a little higher.

"Oh, it's definitely your fault…"

There was a sting on Tony's heart, and he realized it was always there, always when he might let Cap down. He hated that he couldn't stop himself, couldn't drop the act, or say sorry. He was smarter, richer, and a hundred things more, but he never felt at home like this man out of time, never felt worthy. But now, now he really felt how much it pained him when he hurt Steve, and it was so much deeper than respect, so much more savage and severe than he had ever acknowledged.

"…but I'm not going to blame you Tony." Steve said smiling and removing the other boot.

Two things happened that made Tony's heart jump. Those words, coming as light and breezy as everything the golden haired hero ever said, shorn of any self-indulgence or ego, and the caresses of his fingers on his ankle. It was slightly busted, twisted near enough to breaking, and hanging right there in the hands of the best man he knew.

"You'll be okay," Steve said concluding his tender strokes and drawn-out assessment of the foot.

 _'Of course I will be. You're here.'_ That thought made Tony's heart stop enough he was grateful he had a machine powering it.

Tony plummeted back into his mind as Steve rustled on the far side of the bay for a first aid kit to wrap the ankle. There was no power, no comms, and no way out. Steve might make it – would make it – with his metabolism, but without the suit there was little a cocky billionaire could do up a mountain. He was going to die here, and it was going to be slow, and Steve would watch the whole thing and never say a bad word about it, fighting it every step of the way. It had to happen eventually Tony thought with a breaking heart. One day he had to be exposed as a fraud playing as a hero, but why in front of him? Some of the others were killers, or from other worlds and would outlive them all. But no one ever made Tony feel like Steve, he couldn't fail him AND die a failure in front of him.

"Re-route auxiliary power…" he whispered, and Friday powered up the last charge in his remaining repulsor glove. _Not in front of Steve._ Tony took a snide look at the perfect ass bent over in the corner and closed his eyes. He raised his gauntlet to his chin.

 **WHACK!**  
There was a thunderous echo and the blast of energy fired through the steel wall over Tony's head.

"What the hell are you doing Tony!?"

Cap bounded over, his shield spinning on the floor loudly.

"What did you do that for?"

 _"Why did I do that?"_

Steve wanted to stay angry, and Tony probably wanted him to be too, but then the damn honest bastard started crying.

"I'm not going to lose you Tony," he cupped his face, "Especially not to yourself."

Iron Man shoved him off, swinging a hook for his face. His mask closing violently, "Get off Captain. You're being foolish." He swung again, missing with the weak curve, his metal knuckles rattling off the floor.

"Tony…" Steve implored with a pained, pitiful, ring in his voice, dodging the strikes of the half-sitting man. "Tony, what's wrong with you?"

"Everything!" he roared, "Everything's wrong, and it's not getting fixed. Let me die Captain!"

"Tony," he said firmly, forcing his wrist down, pinning the other. Still he squirmed loose, and swung, full of frenzied anger.

"Get off me. Get off me. I deserve this."

"No."

"I do, get off me," he said with enough vehemence the mask rumbled from the might and snapped open revealing the teary eyed Stark. "I nearly killed you. I nearly killed all of us. It's my fault Steve. Let me die."

"No."

"Steve…"

"Tony," the Captain said harshly but with soft hands on Tony's face, his knees on his wrists to keep him pinned against the bulkhead. "You're at high altitude, you've probably hit your head, and frankly you had a bad day all around before that. You're not thinking straight."

Tony stopped, wondering how much the thin air had affected him, but knowing his pain was deeper than the roots of the mountain, his shame buried as far below ground as his father. He'd kill for a drink.

The hands cupping his face were warmer than the fire, and the eyes looking at him were shining like a field of stars. It split him into a hundred pieces, each bursting with a hundred different emotions, some he had admitted before, and too many he had never dared. And there, in one tiny star, seemed to be a promise. A promise that Steve felt the same.

"…Tony."  
Steve tried to begin. But there weren't any words he could find to make him believe, not in himself, and not in them.

So Steve dropped his face closer, inch by tiny inch. And then even slower, as if all time was sinking too, stalling everything in the room until he was barely moving at all. But his lips drew closer, pulled like a cosmic force, an untouchable gravity bringing them together.

"Steve…" Tony wanted to stop it.

Because it couldn't last.

Couldn't be…

The Captain's delicate lips turned firm almost right after contact, taking Tony's into a soft embrace, and then guiding them open and luring his tongue out. It lasted longer and longer with each heartbeat, from the bottom lip, to the top, from when Tony's bare hand touched Steve's, to when his metal one grabbed his back. Thoughts tumbled from one pair of lips to the other; a shared chasm of fears, rejection, of doubts it could be so good. All lost. For it was better than they imagined, better than it should have been, because it might be the last time. The first time. The only time.

The metal hand gripped tight, real tight, because he could take it, and the Captain bit the lip to approve. Then he pulled it away and up, releasing it to make Tony groan.

"…take off the suit…"

Piece by piece he helped. Tony sitting upright, watching each movement of the living legend, eyes shadowed with his back to the fire, but smoldering with intent. He loosed the breastplate first, exposing Tony's bare chest, and then his firm hands worked their way around the ribs, half-exploring for fun, and half-examining for injury.

 _Even now you're thinking of me, taking care of me_ , Tony thought and somehow, like every other time, melted for him even further. But he was beyond just emotion now, the kiss had worked him up, and feeling the cold on his chest, broken by the warm hands, made him hard and erect, and he wanted Steve to take him apart, leave all the pieces of him everywhere so there was only a frail man before him. Seduction was one thing, but there wasn't a call for it here, wasn't a need to play any role. And they didn't speak again. Just looks, and giggles, and occasional nods and grunts. Because it was strange, because Steve was instinct and if he thought about it, it might burn itself out. So it was moving fast, a lifetime woven into precious stolen moments at the top of the world.

Steve worked his way down, feeling every bruise from neck to waist, then he started again, this time tracing them with his tongue, moving down Tony's throbbing neck to his beating heart. He ringed the nipples, wanting to sooth every part of him that ached; wanting to be the only ache he felt. It was exhilarating, being in control of him like his, having him silent, and obedient. Cap followed the chest rising and falling with faster and faster beats as his kisses ran over Tony's midriff, and his hands worked away at the armours waist, uncoupling the buckles with a loud piston release.

Steve got to his knees, prying the last of the legs away, leaving Tony in just dark trunks. As if out of some strange sense of politeness, Steve removed his own shirt and Tony let himself gasp at just how perfect he looked. His breath froze a moment later, as two firm hands ran up his thighs, then back down, switching from outer to inner, and then diverting at the last second. Well I'll be damned, Tony thought, he's actually teasing me.

Steve rolled forward, pressing his flesh against Tony's and from his chiseled pecs to his firm hips he made sure every part brushed past the erection, finishing by brushing his own against it. Even through Steve's pants it made Tony envious, excited and scared all at once. They locked eye-to-eye – brown to blue, naïve to cynic – and Tony needing some control over that smug grin, so his metal glove reached up and grabbed Steve's neck, almost trying to force him down, trying to get the action going.

The Captain smirked larger.

The red and gold glove tensed around the muscled neck, pistons firing hard to get a good grip, to really let him have it. The air slowly began trickling from Steve's windpipe but he didn't break eye contact, didn't back down or surrender. He sat up, keeping it there, but straddling Tony and running one hand into his underwear, sliding the other into his own pants. This he understood, the competition of it. It helped him relax, helped him accept how overboard he had gone.

Both hands went at once, circling and tracing the veins in both cocks, and then rising and falling along the shafts. Tony kept trying to strangle him. His other hand shooting behind his head, squeezing the life out of the beam keeping him upright. His eyes rolled in his head and he felt like passing out from the rush. With perfect tempo Steve started warming up his arrowing cock while gripping Tony's with a finger and thumb, just at the head, just enough to get it going. He was showing off, giving his own a full stroke down the bulging shaft, and only barely circling the rim of the other. As if to encourage more the glove tightened, trying to choke out the super-soldier. It just made him smile.

Tony's other hand released it's grip from behind his head, just as his eyes started losing focus, and grabbed for Steve's trousers, forcing his way over the rim and into the precious spot, almost ringing Steve's own hand. It made them both gasp a little, but Steve's sighs continued rapidly as Tony worked his stabbing arousal quick, faster than he would ever risk with his own, and knowing it was barely a tickle to him.

Steve's own hands fell away, his nostrils flaring with heavier breaths, as Tony pumped faster and harder, working the shaft with a passion that made both their chests heave. Suddenly there was a rending sound, and Tony opened his eyes to see his glove being ground under the grip of the excited Mr. Rogers, his fingers plowing into metal with his ecstasy.

The rhythm was frantic now, both hips rubbing together with intent, their chests beating wildly. Steve's steel arms tore his pants free and Tony's, leaving them skin to skin, stroking each other, cutting and thrusting in a primal clash of throbbing lances. They were at each other now like animals, intimacy replaced by wildness, excitement, and a strand of violence. Steve crushed the glove before Tony sat up, ripping the stray threads off Steve's waist, fully exposing his massive erection. Eyes locked on each other they kissed with force, wrapping themselves around each other in a scorching heat that dwarfed the tame fire crackling beside them.

Moans built with each gasped piece of air before they dived back into each other's lips, hips thrusting into the other, wanting more and more with every tantalizing moment. Tony just wanted to keep running his hands over Steve's smooth frame, it was like warm marble, exquisite to touch. And Steve was tickled by the goatee of Tony, and the day old stubble around his neck, loving the sensation against his boyish cheeks.

Death might be coming at any moment, they might never see the light of day, and it didn't matter anymore. A hundred battles, a thousand near-deaths, and never letting themselves feel alive, feel bodily grateful to the other. Needing to show how deep the bond went after so many pathetic attempts with words. Urgency coursed through their beating hearts and they scrambled onto the makeshift bed, knowing it was now or never. Their lips refused to part for long. Steve hesitated, unsure, not knowing how to proceed, or what to do, but knowing he wanted something, needed something, and Tony was so fragile, so frail.

Until he kissed him.

And bit him, almost chopping on his flesh. Naked and sweating, chests bursting with delight, they explored each other as the winds whipped outside. Tony's arms pulling Steve close, letting him know he was there, he'd take care of it, he'd be in charge when it mattered. Steve's free hand explored the round glowing orb in Tony's chest, a warmth from it surpassed only by his own burning desires, and Tony's metal hand, the only piece remaining on his naked flesh, clawed at the blonde's back. He used it to match the Captain's might, to try and bind his wrists, or pull his head back for another kiss. Mostly, when the Captain started licking his chest, his abs, his hips, and then gloriously began running his warm mouth over the tip of his cock, Tony used it to dig into his back and show his pleasure, marking and scratching him as best he could. The perfect solider gave the perfect head, stamina and speed like no one could believe. Tony took great delight in scratching Steve from the moment he had begun creeping lower, then watching them heal.

But now he could only dig in, eyes closed, anticipating with gasping delight as warm breath flowed over his shaft, and a long drip of saliva kept him wet and able. Steve was delicate, caring, but there was so much power held in check it was like a touch of lightning every time he neared Tony's twitching cock. He cupped the balls, then took the tongue on an exploration, an orbit that began at the base, and wound its way up the shaft until reaching the head. A quick spit, another hand rushing up and down, keeping it warm, keeping it lubricated, and then the panting would come and he would descend again. Looping, wetting, looping, wetting. The glove scratched harder and harder as it continued, until finally, blissfully, indescribably so, Tony felt the mouth go over his cock, the lips staying clear, and the tongue wetting its way down. It got warmer, and warmer, the whole shaft moving into the captain's opening lips. He couldn't believe how deep it went. Then right at the base the lips clasped, pulling tight against the throbbing shaft, and came all the way back up, sealed tight, and with unerring speed. They stayed tight, stayed firm, and the tongue wet for another descent, and ascent. Up and down Steve worked his way, until he finally inhaled to lather Tony up again.

Except the glove pulled him high, needing to see him, needing to bathe in the blue light of his eyes. To be seen by the only man who he wanted to witness him as he was. They kissed tight and hard, pressing lips together and not moving, almost forcing part of each other's souls together, as if they could mix into one.

 _I need you_ , Tony said without a word. _Together_ Steve told him.

Tony adjusted his heavy load, placing the Captain in position, and then, bucking his hips up, forced a pillow under his lower back. Steve stayed silent, stayed close, the scent of Tony intoxicating to him, the sweat glistening between both their chests, content that Tony would take care of him. The smartest man he ever knew, smart enough to build a heart like no other. Caught in his own motions, Tony was having trouble getting up, getting adjusted, presenting himself. And then there was a soft hand under his waist, and without effort Steve had plucked him up and slid his famous shield under them both; raising the pillow, the waist, and Tony in one fell swoop.

It felt sinful to Tony. He loved it.

He took Steve in his hand, taking care to feel every vein and groove on his cock, appreciating it as it throbbed above his own. Then he pressed it slightly, aiming it. Steve was smart enough to understand the position now. But still he let Tony guide him, knew he would need time to take it all in. Not a hairs breath too much more.

His jaw tight, and with deep inhales, losing his breathe at the perfect specimen ready for him, Tony fingered himself enough to get excited, and then slowly eased the tip of Steve's cock into his ass with a helpless gasp.

Tony groaned again as Steve barely clenched, but it was stifled by pleasure, and the healing scratches on Steve's back let him know just how much Tony liked it. So he took a quick stab forward, and Tony released his grip, wrapping both hands around the bronco entering him. Like the kiss that started it all, time slowed with each tiny thrust in and out, letting him get deeper and deeper, grinding the air out of Tony in deep moans. The super-soldier inside him could make him burst if he got deeper too fast, but he wasn't even half-way in.

Steve eased his pressure in and out, anticipating getting his balls against Tony's bare skin, wanting to be as deep as he could ever be. And with each flittering movement in and out, he arched and gasped in equal measure, never experiencing such a firm and tight sensation that only grew more powerful. The deeper he went, the closer he could lower himself to the shuddering Tony. His arms like stone columns keeping him over the breathless man; their eyes locked in those brief moments they weren't lost in pleasure.

It would hurt Tony, but he would like it.

It couldn't come quick enough, the almost seismic grinding sliding deeper into him as hard as a diamond, slicing him open and tightening his throat in pleasure. But he wanted to make it last, and so did Steve, so the fire was stoked one ember at a time, until their throats were burning, their chests enflamed ready to explode, and Tony's hand clawing at Steve's oak tree arms.

Steve's balls ground against his ass, and with a slight buck Tony got the motion going. He pumped against the statue-still pelvis, Steve now lost in how deep he had gotten, and how tight it felt, the sensations drowning him with a fresh surge of pleasure. He gasped as Tony sped up, still draped over him, but riding him with a wild sprawl of his thighs. Steve stayed still, aroused by being a plaything, a toy to be used, and Tony getting off on exploring his cock by grinding his ass around it. Tony leveraged himself off Steve's arms, kneading them in their rock hard support as he moaned; feeling a tiny release before returning onto the full blade. Whatever words they might have had, whatever commands, questions, or talk they might have exchanged were impossible over the hoarse moans they had been reduced too. They wanted to fuck, and be fucked, and demand it, but their throats were red, their breath barely able to keep up with their chests, and their bodies ready to dive and crash in waves of pleasure.

Tony slid backwards on the vibranium shield, and Steve's swollen cock pushed back inside, burning like lava as it did. Tony moaned for more, and Steve's small grinds came forth off the tiny move of his perfect hips, as he built up speed, the unbearable tension needing barely anything to make them both blazing whirlwinds.

Steve wrapped one arm under Tony, supporting him as sweat cascaded down his back, and freeing his hand to grip his own cock. It became Steve's signal for what Tony wanted, and he began growing heavier, firmer, and faster, watching Tony touching himself, feeling the orgasmic strain more than anything. Tony's head was rolling back over his shoulder's, his whole body suspended in Steve's powerful arm. He began pleasuring himself with abandon, stroking his nipples and Steve's, wallowing in the smells, the sounds, and the superhuman speed building like a freight train and pounding him just as hard. His hips were near breaking as Steve's gasps grew heavy and strained, lost in their own pleasurable tidal waves. He fucked him to pieces, smashing him against the unbreakable shield, while Tony frantically rubbed his cock, imagining the sight of cum splashing over the perfect torso animalistically thrusting above him, half-shattering his spine. It was entirely rough and vibrant, except for Steve's soft cradling and Tony's metal hand caressing for brief heartbeats, as if to assure each other they would never choose another.

Steve was ready to go, his breath turning into a low rapid sequence of bass line notes that only made him move further inside Tony. Tony wanted it too, and had the skill to time himself, switching his gloved hand for his bare one, so that he could scratch Steve real and proper. Steve ripped through Tony with blistering power, taking him for his own, causing Tony to run his fingers over Steve's wet lips so that he had them inside his mouth when the first climactic shudder rippled over Steve's back and he arched himself forcibly and finished with a stuttered tremor in his lower lip. Tony swept his cock upward, fired it back, rubbing it until he released back to vertical and climaxed with a stifled scream over Steve's perfect abs.

Steve's raw moans stretched out as he pulled Tony upward, embracing him tight, even as his swollen cock slid free. Tony wrapped both arms around Steve as he held him over the shield, feeling the last electrical currents of energy sparking up his lower back.

The curved shield welcomed them in blissed perfection as they went down together. Tony was not going to die on this mountain, and neither was Steve. The man trapped in ice, and the man trapped in himself, had both found a way to become free, and were finally ready to live.


End file.
